nomadical:
Feeling Aaron resting against him as lightly as he is has Paul wondering what it’d feel like if he just settled on top of him and blotted out the world completely. Not that he isn’t doing a good job of that already. Lips curl into a smile against Aaron’s chest when he hears the answer to his question. He can feel how fast his heart is beating against his mouth. Feel how his breath hitches and pauses when his lips ghost over his skin so lightly.
And it lures him to close his lips around that hardening circle of flesh and suck it between them. His tongue’s there to greet it. A hungry lick is given before a gentle, steady pressure begins to build and release. Only to build up again. Fingertips drift up Aaron’s side, over it and towards his shoulder blades were nails drag the same path back down. The way his skin tastes is too good. Everything Paul imagined (and he did imagine it..) and then some. Almost familiar in how many times the thought came pushing through his mind. Though the reality is far, far better.
He doesn’t stop until he makes him squirm, gasp or sink down into the feeling. Even then, it’s only long enough to pull up, flick the tip of his tongue against his work and hum quietly. “You should sit back,” he pants, “I’m not done yet…” And his hand slips between them, slips between Aaron’s legs where he palms against the bulge in his pants, too. “Not even close..,” and he finishes with another gentle swirl of warm, slick muscle against damp skin.
A low noise gruffs out of his chest as Paul’s mouth works over sensitive flesh, and he can feel the goosebumps rising over his arms, hair standing on end as he shivers. It’s all he can do to keep himself relatively upright on the sofa, he can feel his arm shaking already as his eyes squeeze shut tightly, pleasure lapping up his nerves like the tides of an ocean.
He can’t stop the other noises that leave him, or the way he tenses and relaxes. He wants to get his mouth on Paul and he wants Paul to never, ever stop what he’s doing.
“God,” Aaron grunts. “Jesus.” It’s more blasphemy than directed at Paul, but he imagines it fits either way. His skin feels hypersensitive and he’s got a vague feeling he’s going to last just long enough to maybe escape being embarrassed, but it - it doesn’t matter. He’s just - so glad to be here right now, wants to make Paul feel as good as he’s making him feel. He shifts, sitting back as Paul requested and trying his very, very best not to rock his hips into the pressure of Paul’s hand, and mostly failing.
Maybe the sofa wasn’t the best place for this, but honestly, Aaron can’t even fathom scrounging together enough brain cells to get upstairs.
He stares at him, twin spots of pink high on his cheeks.








